


Improper hours.

by soriksorik



Series: The Bridgerton Drabbles. [2]
Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:34:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28486179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soriksorik/pseuds/soriksorik
Summary: Anthony finds himself at the doorstep of someone he did not know was so dear to him.
Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton/Elizabeth Bennet, Anthony Bridgerton/OC, Anthony Bridgerton/Original Character, Anthony Bridgerton/Original Female Character
Series: The Bridgerton Drabbles. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086383
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55





	Improper hours.

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place right after Anthony's fight with Simon in 1x06.

It was rather improper for anyone to call at this hour, let alone for it to be a man. Whatever would the neighbors think should they have seen him? Especially knowing that her parents were away and Lizzie had been left all alone, in the hands of the maids and the footmen. To anyone less informed of the situation, the visit that came by that night would seem like the young pair taking advantage of the current situation, and being rather careless about it. Of course, that was not the case. Frankly, the reason for the visit could not have been less pleasing than what it was.

When Anne informed her that it was Mr. Anthony Bridgerton that had called upon their house at such an hour, Lizzie’s first reaction was a mixture of excitement and annoyance. Excitement because she had not seen the man in days and she had managed to miss him dearly, even if she hated admitting that the feelings she harbored for him now had turned from her initial hatred to something much warmer. Annoyance because, no matter how pleased she may be with seeing him at long last, there was still the matter of etiquette and propriety.

Slipping on her robe, Lizzie made her way downstairs, debating on whether to reprimand the man and send him running or to invite him in and see what exactly it was that had brought him to her doorstep at such an hour, breaking all and every moral code to exist in high society, a moral code she wanted to remember that he regarded quite highly.

However, the moment the woman’s eyes rested on her caller. The moment she saw the state in which he stood in her parlor. The ruffled hair, the disheveled attire, the blackening mark underneath his right eye, the bleeding nose… whatever it was that Lizzie had been thinking of earlier, whatever monologue she had been forming in her head, immediately dissolved. She came to a screeching halt at the foot of the stairs, so unexpected that Anne nearly bumped into her, something that would have sent the both of them flying to the floor.

“Miss Bennet, forgive me for disturbing you so late. In truth, I did not know what I was thinking. I shall be on my —”

“Fetch me clean cloth and water,” the lady muttered, without ever letting her gaze fall from Anthony’s features, or letting him finish the sentence. “And some alcohol to better clean the wounds…”

Anne lingered behind her for a moment, clearly questioning the propriety of the scene at hand, but soon offered her lady a curt bow and hurried off to arrange all that had been requested.

As the two were left alone in the parlor, the footman retreating to the drawing room to light a fire, Lizzie approached her guest, careful in her step. Gently, she raised a hand to his face, just where the bruise was forming, the pads of her fingers lightly trailing over the flesh before she dropped it, too afraid to hurt him beyond what he had already been hurt.

Anthony winced and flinched now as Lizzie carefully dabbed the damp cloth against his face, attempting to clean up the dried blood from his top lip and chin, and stop any new blood flow from his nose. He had been rather courageous as she cleaned the cuts on his knuckles and palm, only hissing at her once.

“Whatever happened to you, Mr. Bridgerton?” Lizzie finally whispered, allowing her curiosity to get the better of her and deciding to break the unbearable silence that had settled in the room. Anthony had not uttered a word since his failed attempt at an excuse upon his arrival. He chuckled now, an action that caused him to wince and hiss in pain. He clutched at his ribs momentarily, and Lizzie wondered if she should call upon a doctor.

When he had recovered, he offered her a careless reply. “A brawl with a friend.”

Lizzie could not help but raise her eyebrow, tilting her head back momentarily to scan his expression before resuming the soft dabbing of the cloth, gaze scanning for any other cuts on his face that were too small to have been noticed upon first glance.

“This does not look like something that happens after a brawl,” she mused. “This looks like someone trying to aim where it hurts and, by the looks of it, succeeding.”

She did not say it only on the account of his bruises but also on the account of his silence. No matter what the circumstance, no matter what his mood, she had known Anthony to always try and find a conversation topic, however dull, just to maintain some sort of atmosphere. He was uncharacteristically quiet tonight, and the look in his eyes… the look on his face, it was that of a kicked puppy. Funny, how the whole image just came to form a perfect picture that was almost self-explanatory.

Anthony remained silent for a moment, but he pulled away from her. Immediately, his face became cold. Colder than she had ever seen it, colder than she could have imagined. Even upon their first meeting, when he had been so insufferably rude, did he look kinder than in that exact moment.

“He is right, you know?”

Lizzie blinked a few times, raising a perfectly sculpted brow skywards. “I beg your pardon?”

The Bridgerton boy rose from his seat rather abruptly, moving to pace around the drawing room. He was limping ever so slightly, but he paid it no mind. Whatever was going through his head clearly consumed him too much for him to pay attention to any pain or discomfort he may be feeling.

“Simon,” he finally said, stopping to face her. “He is right about me. I cannot keep a promise. I cannot make good on my word. Hell, I cannot even make good on my basic obligations to society and my family.”

What Anthony was saying did not make much sense to Elizabeth at that moment, but she could see that it was rather distressing to him. He began pacing again, muttering something under his breath about the array of broken promises and the fact that he was a failure in the eyes of his father, God rest his soul.

Slowly, the brunette lowered the cloth back into the bowl and rose from her seat, moving towards the pacing figure in the middle of her drawing room. He did not notice her approaching, too consumed in his thoughts and whispers. It was only when she allowed herself the boldness of taking hold of him did he stop.

At first, Elizabeth merely caught his wrist, to catch his attention. It worked brilliantly, for her stopped at once, turning to face the woman. His features were a mix of pain, guilt, disappointment and something else she could not quite put her finger on. The woman’s next move was cupping his face in her palms, something that was entirely out of order. They were not man and wife, and neither were they engaged. This type of physical contact was scandalous, but Lizzie could not help herself. It was a natural reaction to the state he was in, and she was going to follow her instinct.

“Anthony… Anthony, shhh…”

It was the first time she had called him by his first name as opposed to whatever other moniker was seen as ‘proper’. It was the first time she had allowed his given name to roll off her tongue, allowed herself to taste it on her lips and get used to the feeling of saying it. It made her warm all the way to her core. Saying it felt… right.

He seemed to have enjoyed hearing it, too, for he leaned into her touch ever so slightly, his features relaxing as his gaze calmed on hers, no longer wild and running all over the room.

“Say it again… my name.”

Lizzie could not help herself. “Anthony…”

What transpired next happened so fast that neither Elizabeth nor Anthony had a proper moment to register it. In a moment, whatever distance had been maintained between the two dissipated. Anthony’s arms slipped around the brunette’s waist and his lips landed on hers.

It was rough at first. His stubble grazed her delicate flesh in a way that was almost painful, the pressure of his mouth against her own most uncomfortable, and the way his fingers dug into the small of her back made her feel rather queasy. The sensation soon dissipated, however, and Lizzie relaxed into his embrace, allowing herself to cup his face more sternly now, still gentle in her touch but making her presence better known, keeping him just where she wanted him. Her mouth parted with his, lips molding with his own. A beautiful dance of desire and passion, one that was oh-so-forbidden.

They stayed like that for a moment, lost and at the same time perfectly found, falling into one another as if two puzzle pieces coming together to shape a beautiful image. Then, almost simultaneously, they collected their wits. Anthony let her go first, but Lizzie pushed him away before he could step away from her at his own accord.

The two looked at each other,  _ mortified _ . Chest rising and falling rapidly, lips burning from the previous connection, wishing for more. His aftertaste lingered on her tongue and she wanted to savor it, to map it and him into her memory and treasure the thought like her most prized possession, however wrong it may be.

Bewilderment was clear in both their features, as well as pure and utmost horror at the realization of what they had just done and what it could have meant had someone caught them. Lizzie’s reputation would have been ruined and Anthony would have had no other choice but to wed her and maintain her good name.

“Lizzie, I am so so —”

“Please, you must leave at once.” 

She cut him off, her gaze falling to the ground as she slowly attempted to compose herself. Lizzie could not look at him any longer, could not feel his burning gaze upon her flesh, could not see herself in his arms just like she had experienced a moment ago.

Anthony did not fight her. He did not protest. He did not really say  _ anything _ . His voice when he spoke to her, however understanding, was cold, and it broke her heart to hear that distance in his tone.

“Good night, Miss Bennet.”

There was another moment of silence before Anthony moved. She heard him shuffling around, gathering his things. He offered Lizzie a curt bow, one that she saw from the corner of her eyes, before moving towards the door and walking out, allowing it to slam shut as he left.

Another moment passed, one where Lizzie remained unmoving, before she finally let out a shaky breath, lithe digits curling a fist around the fabric of her robe.

“Good night, Anthony…”


End file.
